


your hunger starts to make you sick

by soldier



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Emetophilia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldier/pseuds/soldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has the kid wrapped around his finger. He should feel guilty, but he can't bring himself to, not when David offers himself up so readily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hunger starts to make you sick

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is about emetophilia aka vomit so please tread carefully! also, kaz isn't as tough as he thinks he is. don't call him on it.
> 
> title slightly altered from "we don't want your body" by stars.

Kazuhira Miller always screens his phone calls, but when it's David, he picks up more often than not. Usually because when he calls David is asking him over to eat (and fuck), or take out the dogs (and fuck), or just because he's drunk and needs someone to fuck the maudlin out of him. Miller is happy to oblige, in any case.

This isn't the call he was hoping to get.

It had sounded promising at first, David slurring "Master," over his answering machine, and he'd snatched up the phone.

"David? Hello."

"Master," David sighs, relief palpable in his voice, and Miller's already begun to take interest because he sounds drunk and desperate and--

"Master, I'm sick."

Miller's train of thought comes crashing to a halt. "Hm?"

"Yeah," David sighs, sounding almost apologetic. "I don't know if it's a bug, or something I ate, but it's--" He pulls away from the phone, making a muffled noise. "It's bad."

"I see." Hell Master Miller would admonish him for not taking proper care of himself, but Kaz is a little intrigued. Even as every other FOXHOUND trainee eventually succumbed to the elements and the harsh training, he'd never heard Solid Snake so much as sniffle. Maybe it was some genetic clone thing.

He thinks about the kid gagging on his dick, then he thinks about the kid just gagging. It's an interesting thought.

"Kaz?" David asks, after he's been quiet for a moment.

"I'm on my way, David."

"Wha--? Really?"

Miller rolls his eyes. He's able to recognize David's call for what it was--a plea to be taken care of, even if he hadn't expected Miller to come through. Miller shifts the phone between his ear and shoulder, starting to shift through the fridge for some of the leftover caribou stew he knows David likes. "Of course," he says smoothly. "Can't have my best boy getting weak on me."

He'll just be taking care of him in a way David hadn't expected, that's all.

"I'll see you in a bit."

*

An hour later he's knocking at David's cabin, a Tupperware container full of stew tucked safely under his arm. He hears the dogs first, then David's shuffled footsteps as he moves to open the door.

"Hi," David says weakly. He looks like hell, sweating under multiple layers, his fringe plastered to his forehead with it. He looks fuckable, and Miller bites his lip as he shoves through the doorway and past several excited huskies, setting down the soup on the nearest flat surface before pulling David into an insistent kiss.

David melts into his touch for a moment before drawing back, horrified. He covers his mouth with one hand. "Master," he mumbles, "I wasn't lying. I really don't feel well."

"I know," Miller tells him, mock-soothing, but the kid falls for it easy enough. He removes David's hand from his mouth, takes it in one of his. "I want to fuck you."

"What? ...Now?"

"Especially now." Miller raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to be a good boy for me?"

David's breath hitches at that. Oh, he has the kid wrapped around his finger. He should feel guilty, but he can't bring himself to, not when David offers himself up so readily.

"I--OK," David says, uncertainly. "How is this going to work?"

Miller shrugs out of his coat, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor before he starts to help David out of his shirts. "Just follow my lead," he assures him, watching as David shivers in the cool air, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course," David says automatically. "Master. Of course."

*

As much as he wants to, loves to hear the kid gag, Miller's not actually cruel enough to stick his dick down David's throat. Not when that would probably end their fun early. He wants to keep him on the edge as long as possible, keep him shivering and drooling.

He ends up getting him naked and fucking him over the bathtub, David's arms braced against the far wall while he dry heaves to the porcelain below. It's a beautiful sight, his protege all bent over and literally gagging for it, and Miller's lubed-up fingers are impatient as they work their way inside.

He works them in and out until David is riding his hand, pushing back on every thrust forward. He makes a choked-off little moan when Miller finally brushes his prostate, pressing his face to the cool tile. Miller watches him bite his lip, listens to the quiet noises that barely escape behind his teeth. David _can't_ be loud, not unless he wants to risk vomiting all over himself, and that just turns Miller on more. He removes his fingers--David whines deep in throat--and shoves down his pants and boxers, swiftly replacing his hand with the head of his dick. Lets David feel it until the kid is rocking back, whining for more.

Miller fucks him open, shallow thrusts and the drag of skin on skin until neither of them can take it anymore. David bites his own lips red and abused, trying to hold back the tide of noises, trying to keep himself from throwing up. And oh, Miller doesn't even need to stick his fingers down the kid's throat when he's already so responsive, gagging on every thrust, clenching around his dick with every hiccup.

"Master," David pants, "Master, I'm going to--"

Miller picks up the pace. David takes it, like he always does. "Just let go," Miller instructs him, all gentle in contrast to his punishing rhythm. He runs his fingers down David's throat to feel his shuddering breath. "It's OK."

"Kaz," David moans miserably. His mouth stays open, bile and drool leaking out. Miller watches as flecks of it hit the wall, the tub. He wants to lick it off the kid's mouth; he wants to fuck it all out of him.

With another heave, another thrust, David finally stops fighting it, splattering vomit onto the wall and the bathtub below. Every spasm has him clenching like he's coming, so deliciously tight around Miller's dick until he's spent, a beautiful sweating mess, shivering uncontrollably under Miller's firm grasp. David's left gagging on nothing, drool and bile leaking from his open mouth, tears running down his face that Miller aches to taste.

"Master, please--"

" _Good_ boy," Miller groans in response. "Good, good boy. You take my dick so well, don't you?"

"Yes, Master, I--" David moans and starts to choke again, coughing up nothing but bile. Miller yanks the boy's head up with a handful of his hair. The bile continues to pour out of his mouth, mixing with tears to drip down his chin and splatter across the tile. He looks beautiful: the hard line of his neck, the sickly pallor of his sweat-drenched skin, the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he gags fruitlessly on nothing.

Miller half expects him to safe-word, but he doesn't. He takes everything Miller gives him until he's an incomprehensible, crying mess, mumbling under his breath between pants and heaves. He's so good for him; Miller figures David deserves a reward. He takes David's dick in hand--he's as hard as he's ever felt him--and starts to jerk him off, a counterpoint to his thrusting, as slow and even as he can manage.

David's moans sound like more sobs. He reaches behind himself with one hand, grasping for anything, trying to tug his master closer. Miller obliges him, covering David's whole body with his own, shivering at the difference in body heat and the feel of David's clammy skin. He nips at David's neck affectionately. "What is it, boy?"

"Please," David gasps.

"Please, what?" Miller grins. David's been good, but he can never resist toying with him a little.

"Make me come," David whines. "I've been--I did everything--I've been good, haven't I?"

"You've been good," he agrees solemnly. "OK. I've got you, boss."

Miller quickens the pace of his hand, trying to angle his thrusts upward until David moans openly, ending in a choked-off noise as he begins to cough and dry heave again. Between his panting and gagging it seems David can barely catch his breath, but he manages just enough to rasp, "Right _there_ , Master, please."

Miller is struck with the desire to kiss the rest of the breath out of him. "Turn your head," he grunts into David's ear.

"Ah, Master," David pants, "Kaz, no--"

" _Turn your head_ ," Miller insists, nipping at his shoulder. "You know I hate to repeat myself."

Humiliated, David complies, craning his neck to face Miller the best he can with most of his body pinned in place. Miller kisses him under one eye, tasting the salt there, before he seizes his mouth.

David is stiff beneath him for just a moment before he relaxes, hesitantly opening his mouth to Miller's probing tongue. It's hard to kiss him from this angle, but it's deliciously filthy, and it's worth it to swallow every miserable little noise David makes, increasing in fervor as he nears completion.

Miller can feel that David is close, pressing his ass flush against Miller's hips with every thrust. He releases David's mouth, moving to press kisses to his hairline, sucking a bruise against his neck. "Come for me, boy," he growls into David's ear. "Your master wants to hear you."

David arches his back and _does_ , moaning brokenly, going almost slack in Miller's arms as his hands scrabble for purchase on the tile. Miller fucks him through it, his hips stuttering as he feels his own climax build, continuing at as steady a pace as he can until David is practically sobbing, overstimulated. "Please," he begs again.

"So fucking needy today, aren't you?" Miller asks him, gritting his teeth with the effort of holding back his orgasm until the perfect moment. "Please, what?"

"Come inside me," David chokes, wrung-out and barely hanging on. Gorgeous, Miller thinks, and obliges him, his toes curling against the floor with the force of it, pumping inside David until he's satisfied, until David is begging brokenly for nothing.

Miller finally stills, pressing another kiss to David's hair before standing and running his hands soothingly up David's arms, down his back, feeling the goosebumps that have formed there. David moans once more when he pulls out, then goes quiet. He's still shivering. Miller is surprised he can even still stand, but David's careful to hold his pose until he's told otherwise. Obedient. 

Miller takes a moment to appreciate David's ass in the air, cum leaking out, running an appreciative hand through David's hair. "Good boy," he murmurs as he moves to grab a towel. Separated from Miller's body heat, David shrinks in on himself a little but hums, happy with the praise.

"Come on," Miller tugs on his arms gently. "Up you get." He dries David off briskly, from his legs to where the damp ends of his hair cling to his neck. He leaves the towel wrapped around David's shoulders, directing his shaking legs to sit on the closed toilet seat. "Hang tight. I'll be right back."

He returns with a glass of water. David reaches for it but Miller bats his hands away, setting down the water and grabbing a handful of tissue. He cleans David's face for him, wiping away the tears and bile and drool, the spot of blood where David had bitten his lip open, before handing him the water. "Drink slow," Miller instructs.

David nods, accepting the water gratefully and sipping at it while Miller readies his toothbrush. He helps David to his feet, keeping watch while David brushes his teeth gingerly, moving the towel from his shoulders to dry his hair.

When David's done he shoves him to the bedroom, helping him dress in warm, clean clothing before jerking his head towards the bed. He brings David another glass of water before helping himself to the closet, divesting the rest of his own clothing in exchange for a pair of David's slightly-too-big sweatpants and a t-shirt.

It's a charming facsimile of a domestic scene, Miller thinks as he crawls into bed besides David, especially after what they've just done. Still, he allows it when the kid immediately curls himself into his chest, wrapping an arm around David's shoulders. It's more comfortable that way, and he can't bring himself to care about what kind of picture they're making. He's tired.

"Thank you, Kaz," David mumbles into his chest. Even quietly his voice sounds completely wrecked, and Miller grins into David's hair. "For taking care of me."

"Mmhmm," he replies noncommittally. "Ah. I brought some stew. When you're up to it."

David nods, already drifting off. It's a new thing, being able to fall asleep together, not having to shove the kid hurriedly out of his quarters while no one was watching. Everything is new here, post-FOXHOUND. Part of him still wants to chew the kid out for letting himself get sick, but he doesn't have to. 

Most of him wants to sleep.

Carefully placing his sunglasses on the nightstand, running his free hand languidly through David's hair, Miller allows himself to fall under.


End file.
